


Oranges Are Just Another Fruit

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Sea Patrol
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Food, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Puzzles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bomber reaches out to RO. She understands him better than anyone else on-board. It's a sort of friendship and it benefits them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oranges Are Just Another Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to saraw27 for betaing this fic months ago.

Bomber hadn’t been completely joking when she’d told RO that she knew everything. She knew most of what went on on Hammersley and a lot about the people on it. That was what being the chefo was all about - learning people’s personalities, what they liked when they were low or stressed, providing a hot cuppa made just the way they liked it, seeing the good that an ordinary meal could do when it reminded a crew member of somebody or something back home. All the stuff that was essential on a ship as small as the Hammersley. Without Bomber doing that part of her job so well, the Hammersley would be a lot harder to live on. That was a fact.

 

It had exhausted Bomber to start with - it was like being on call twenty-four-seven. She'd snapped a lot and gotten warnings for it. So she'd built up her own secret stash of chocolate and her favourite banana bread puddings for when her patience was frequently tested, thanks to the idiotic things her crewmates did and expected her to pitch in with. The stash had helped, a lot, as did her discovery that giving people what they needed meant that she was happier too since they stopped getting under her feet and in her way.

 

She’d learned to leave the right tea out for Swain when he was tense, usually because of an email, or lack of one, from his wife. She made extra eggs, bacon, and fried bread for breakfast when Charge was due at the hospital about his eye – he never told anyone when he was due to go but he would start drumming his fingers and get a lot quieter about his shore leave. Bomber knew her cues. She made sure there was some of that gross banana yoghurt Kate loved so much for when she and the CO had one of their clashes and that she hid enough of her homemade chocolate biccies for when Nav was on a really bad down.

 

One of the best and most basic things she did was suck it up, face the fryer, and cook the crew chips. Not every week but just often enough times to keep them off her back and happy. RO always gave her a look when he smelt the tell-tale grease but he never said anything in front of the crew. He'd been serious when he’d said he didn't do gossip. He didn't do small talk full stop.

 

Bomber grinned down at the seafood that she was currently shucking. RO was like a clam or an oyster or a crab or some other metaphor that meant he was tightly shut when it came to revealing anything. Food clichés, every one of them, but every one of them was true about RO. He would hate the comparison. So sometimes Bomber told him, when he needed a bigger kick up the arse than usual. Because occasionally he actually listened to her and she was not beyond using that as often as possible for his own good and for the good of the crew.

 

When she did make chips, she always cooked one batch extra thin and crispy, the way that she’d noticed RO liked them. She’d stick them in a bowl and give them to him in the COMCEN. A thank you for not revealing her secret fear of the deep-fryer and a reminder that she knew he was there. He liked the solitude his job forced on him, that was obvious, but it didn’t help his almost non-integration with the crew. So Bomber dropped in on him with chips. Nothing that he could complain about. Just a reminder that he shouldn’t always be shut away and set apart. That he could do the friends thing, that it could be beneficial to him.

 

It was slow work. But Bomber knew from personal experience, as someone whose own attitude put people off getting to know her better, it was definitely worth it. Whether RO believed it right now or not.

 

It wasn’t just chips she gave RO. They got fresh fruit whenever they docked at port and Bomber had learned quickly who liked and avoided what. RO definitely liked oranges. So when Bomber took drinks and snacks to the bridge, she usually dropped an orange in RO’s lap without warning, just to see his expression. She’d asked him once why he ate so many. He’d looked at her like it was obvious and reeled off statistics about vitamin C and scurvy. And he was definitely for real. Only RO…..

 

She’d seen him once in the COMCEN, boring a hole through the orange peel and sucking out the juice and flesh. He hadn’t noticed that she was watching. Bomber grinned. She’d always loved eating oranges that way as a kid. Her Mum had hated it, which of course meant Bomber had kept on doing it noisily and gleefully. Only when RO did it, there was none of that fun. It seemed more like a ritual for him, something serious. And for some reason, he left the pips on his desk, scattered over his paperwork. What he eventually did with them, Bomber had no idea.

 

*

 

There was a lot of boredom on the ship. Bomber had stuff to keep her busy - getting regular meals made in between learning new things up on the bridge, being part of the boarding parties, and helping Swain with any medical emergencies. But there were often stretches of time that had nothing official to fill them. So when Bomber wasn't exercising, she had a stash of word and number puzzle books to go through.

 

It had been one of her favourite ways to kill time ever since she was a kid. Her Dad had always given her puzzle books on long journeys to keep her from fighting with her sister. Of course that hadn't happened, but in between the inevitable fights, it had made the time pass quickly. It still did now. It also brought back memories of spilled apple juice sticky everywhere and smudged fingerprints on the windows and tinny music and a lot of laughter in the stuffy heat. Good family stuff that was sometimes harder to pinpoint in the more recent years.

 

Bomber had finished all of her books on this patrol though so instead, she’d started making up her own puzzles. Challenging herself to come up with something harder than the books. It worked as a really good distraction for hours. Maybe she'd post a set to Alexandria; she’d always finished the paper's crossword faster than anyone else in the kitchen. Her birthday was coming up too.

 

One morning, when Bomber was trying to pull together a lunchtime stew, RO came in looking for coffee.

 

“What's this?”

 

Bomber glanced over from the full tureen she was stirring. “Something I'm working on for a friend. She likes puzzles.”

 

“Huh, this is pretty advanced.”

 

RO examined the papers, leafing through Bomber's ideas, his brow furrowed in his familiar fully-concentrating expression. In fact, he got so absorbed, he didn’t notice the whistling kettle ‘til Bomber rattled her tureen to get his attention.

 

“Can I hold onto this?” RO had his coffee in one hand and the papers in the other.

 

Bomber shrugged, pretty much everything got passed around on the Hammersley and at least RO wouldn’t lose it. That was guaranteed. “You’re that bored, sure. Just be careful with it, okay? It’s my only copy. I need it back by Wednesday.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

RO obviously wasn’t listening anymore as he exited without another word. Bomber rolled her eyes. Figured, not even a ‘thanks.’ Anyone else she would have yelled after, but with RO, it was just part of the package and you had to be careful which thread you pulled on. It was never like ripping off a plaster with him. Why was it that she was the only one who saw that?

 

Way before Wednesday, her puzzle turned up on her bunk. It didn’t have orange pip strains on, but it had been completed in pen and with corrections and ideas of how to make it even harder. Bomber raised an eyebrow.

 

“How long?”

 

“What?”

 

“How long? I know you timed yourself.”

 

RO shrugged a shoulder. “Half hour.”

 

“Oh, come on. Really? Was your watch actually working, let me see……”

 

“Hey! Do you mind?!”

 

“Half an hour. Unreal. I bet you’re impossible at Scrabble.”

 

“The word you’re looking for is ‘undefeated.’”

 

“Oh really?”

 

The next night, there was a Scrabble game. RO versus Bomber. If bets were made, the CO certainly had no knowledge of them, though if gambling was allowed in the Navy, he’d have put $30 on Bomber.

 

*

 

RO’s birthday was coming up. Bomber had a cake in mind. Something small for him. And a bigger one for the crew – vanilla with lots of cream. For RO, she found a tin she hardly used and planned a moist chocolate and orange cake. She covered it in thick chocolate butter icing and, with a grin, marked out a Sudoku grid and starting numbers on it before the icing dried. So it was tasty and perfectly themed.

 

Kate had told her about the sparklers that RO had found for Bomber’s hilariously frozen birthday cake, so Bomber used a few of those on the crew cake. The smaller one she planned on sneaking into RO’s cabin, because that would annoy him and get the cake to him before anyone else stole a piece.

 

Once the big day arrived and RO had more gracelessly than usual endured people making a big deal, Bomber served the crew’s cake during lunch, sparklers ablaze, to a lot of appreciative cheers. RO’s expression told her ‘thanks,’ but he didn’t look happy. Clearly birthdays pulled the wrong thread.

 

Bomber knocked on his door. Screw the sneaking part of her plan. This called for blunt force.

 

The door swung open and RO, shadows under his eyes, stared out, every part of him tense and screaming ‘go away.’ Undeterred, Bomber held up her offering.

 

“You’re not going to refuse free cake, are you?”

 

RO looked at it, then at her before turning his back and going back inside. It wasn’t an invite but it wasn’t a refusal either, so Bomber took it as permission to do what she liked. She stepped into the room, closed the door after her and put the cake on the tiny shelf. RO was sat on the bottom bunk. Bomber sat down beside him.

 

For a little while, there was just silence. Then RO spoke.

 

“There’s nothing special about today.”

 

“Of course there is.”

 

“I hate it.”

 

Bomber frowned. “Hey, I made a cake. Two actually. That’s pretty special.”

 

Robert snorted. “Yeah. Happy cake day.”

 

Bomber smiled a little and nudged her foot against his. “Happy cake day.”

 

There was a pause. RO’s hands were fidgeting. He had that look on his face, like he was deciding whether or not to say something. Bomber waited him out.

 

In the end, all that emerged was a halting. “Thanks, for the cakes.”

 

“And the sparklers.”

 

RO’s eyebrows lifted and there was that familiar incredulity that he almost always wore. But that wasn’t all there was in his expression. Bomber directed a wide smirking grin at him, the one that always got him rolling his eyes. Yep, there it was.

 

“Sparklers that I found for your cake.”

 

“Which I never got to eat, because I was lost overboard and it was disgusting.” Bomber pressed on. “You shouldn’t be locked up here by yourself today.”

 

RO hunched over again. “Like I said, it’s nothing special.”

 

“Well, the sparklers say different.”

 

Bomber levered herself up. It was almost time for her to get dinner on. She paused outside the door and ducked her head back in.

 

“And ten says you can’t solve that grid in twenty.”

 

She shut the door before he could reply and headed back to the galley satisfied. Robert hated not having the last word. And if there was one thing he loved, it was proving himself right. He’d have to come out of his cabin at some point to crow about completing the cake grid – it would definitely take him less than twenty minutes to do it. Ten dollars was a small price to pay for that victory.

 

*

 

RO kept a bonsai in the COMCEN. Bomber had often been there while he tended to it. Everyone had to have a hobby on-board, she supposed, though that was a little delicate for her tastes. She’d probably knock it out of its pot or break its branches or something. But RO was careful, wielding a dinky pair of secateurs as confidently as he did radio equipment. It was the perfect activity for him – isolated and calling for a lot of precision and concentration.

 

Bomber watched him sometimes, as she leaned against the COMCEN wall. She talked, he listened. Sometimes he threw things out that weren’t just insults or harsh undiluted observations. He was more willing to talk and listen than people realised, you just had to push the right buttons and avoid the sore spots. Just because he was prickly all over didn’t mean that was all he was. Bomber knew what it was like to get smacked with that label.

 

They didn’t talk about his family. It had been clear early on that that was a no-go area. Bomber had spotted the polished and well-kept box with a shiny little plaque that sat on RO’s desk – it was obvious what it had once contained. RO had made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about his Mum either. Whatever had happened there had struck deep and the wounds weren’t even close to being healed yet. Boy, did Bomber ever understand that.

 

But RO did give some things up – the food he liked, the sport he watched. Everyday things that sometimes got forgotten on the ship, the stuff that rounded a person out on shore. It was nice to talk about non-Navy things. Bomber already knew that she wasn’t a Navy lifer, unlike a lot of the crew. The Navy had given her the stability and discipline she’d definitely needed at one time but she was ready to move on soon. After a few more rotations, she’d probably settle back on shore. Her mates would put the word out for her that she was interested in kitchen work again and it wouldn’t be that hard to find a job she enjoyed, not with the number of bars and restaurants in the port alone.

 

She carefully peeled a strip of skin off the apple in her hand, RO pruning the bonsai close by. This was the sort of stuff she’d miss the most. Not the regular complaints about the food – because even on a small ship, you couldn’t please everyone – or the adrenaline-spiking situations that the Hammersley regularly found itself part of. She wouldn’t miss the lives of her friends dangling in the balance so often either. Losing E.T had been bad enough.

 

This though, this was all right; hanging out with RO, drinking in the silence and the peace of COMCEN. It was a great relief from the rest of the ship. Along with the shore leave and the camaraderie and yeah, making a difference even if it did mean facing pretty out-there danger on a stupidly regular basis. This, the faint but constant smell of oranges, the sound of Spider shouting somewhere above, RO’s absolute focus and quiet snipping, she’d miss a lot.

 

*

 

Bomber found the paper on her cabin bed. It was an old radio missive from last year. On the back, in RO’s precise handwriting, was a time for this afternoon, with the added caption that she’d have fifteen minutes at most on the phone. Bomber’s brow creased; she hadn’t booked in any phone time this week. She headed to the COMCEN.

 

“What’s this about?”

 

RO barely glanced over his shoulder, one headphone clamped to his ear as he transcribed whatever he was hearing. “You’re way too early.”

 

“RO, I didn’t book a call time today.”

 

RO indicated the headphones with a familiar barely-withheld impatience. “Do you want to talk to the very angry Lieutenant on HMAS Melbourne? Or can I do my job?”

 

Bomber held up her hands and settled back to wait. Five minutes later, and one message delivered up to the bridge, RO was back, looking expectantly at her. “What?”

 

“This call, RO. I didn’t book it.”

 

RO shrugged, not bothering to look at the paper. “I know. I booked it for you.”

Bomber’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Why?”

 

RO looked a little uncomfortable. His gaze even skittered about the room for a bit before settling back on her. Since when did he maintain anything other than direct eye contact?

 

“It’s your sister’s birthday this week.”

 

This was getting weirder. “………Yeah.”

 

“This afternoon was the only time left free all week for private calls. I thought you’d want the slot to call her.”

 

The surprised pause stretched out. RO began working through his notes, clearly believing the conversation was over. Bomber stared, then one of her smiles slowly started to take shape as something warm and unexpected worked its way through her. Anyone else, she would have hugged. But since it was RO, she squeezed his shoulder. It was enough to still him completely.

 

“You were wrong; you can do this friendship thing.” She gave his shoulder a little shake before she let go. “Thanks.”

 

Something shifted in RO’s shoulders, maybe relaxed? “……No problem.”

 

That afternoon, she heard Cathy’s voice and got all the news and nuances that letters just couldn’t communicate. Cathy talked about Michael and the kids and how they missed their Aunt Becca. Bomber teased her about her age and what she'd been like when she was little. After a few scrappy breathless minutes of Bomber talking to the kids, Cathy took the phone back and said the usual 'take care' and 'love you' and 'see you soon.' Bomber said it all back.

 

The next time she went up to the bridge, she dropped two oranges in RO's lap.

 

 _-the end_


End file.
